


How To Lose An Alta In Ten Days

by lafillechanceuse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, Gen, Intrigue, Mutual Pining, Origin Story, Political Alliances, Slow Burn, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafillechanceuse/pseuds/lafillechanceuse
Summary: Nia via lerno victoria, as they say in Tevinter. Of course, victory depends on your point of view, and it's tough luck if you're not the victor, but considering the recent developments with the Lucineri--I'm sorry. Of course you wanted to hear the legend of the heir of House Gracchus, Cornelia, who vanished off the face of Thedas in ten days.Or, alternatively, how starting a revolution ahead of its time presents more challenges than one might expect. Naturally, the heir to a disgraced house, does her best to circumvent them and her feelings for her slightly more than friendly political partner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andrastes_grace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrastes_grace/gifts).



> For Maggie Amber Elizabeth Davidson, best beloved friend, always and forever like a handprint on my heart. Love you. Miss you.

Cornelia Gracchus stared at the parchment in front of her, sucking the nib of her quill.

She ignored the cup of cocoa beside her, the rune inscribed in the china glowing softly to indicate the drink inside was still warm. She scribbled down another note in the margins of the draft in front of her. A minor piece of legislation concerning stricter standards for peer reviewed research boards in the Circles, but an important step on her path to consul. It was crucial this legislation be passed within the next month. However, unlike a budget, it would pass with little dissent. Despite her house’s reputation, her aptitude for enduring the bureaucratic drudgery that was the lowest echelon of Circle politics had paid off handsomely. As the sole heir, she was not required to complete a mandatory term of military service in Seheron, but she was serving the people in her own way.

She was hardly the only quaestor in that position, though. Those who could often whittled their heir’s term of service down to a year at most, and the birth rate among the alti had steadily declined for the past fifty years. Many looked the other way rather than arguing for new blood. Of course, one could argue that Tevinter’s penchant for culling every person who so much as blinked at it funny had led them to their current predicament. Cornelia’s parents had fallen victim to it in her fifteenth year, the unfortunate victims of a hunting accident. With pirates somehow, despite them being nowhere near the coast. At least she could console herself that her parents’ assassin had met a far more ignoble end dying from poisoned fresh figs.

She lay her quill down beside the parchment, rubbing her eyes. Gaining political capital for a practically disgraced house was a long, disappointing slog. However, no magister in Tevinter eyed the Circles of Magi too closely, not unless they wanted a short career and the long retirement only the grave could promise. Nodding off, Cornelia stirred for a moment as strong hands reached down to touch her shoulders, slowly kneading the knots of tension out of them. 

“I do wish you had considered not cutting your hair, mistress.”

Her disapproval belied the fondness with which her hand stroked through the short blonde hair.  

“It was in my way, Livia.”

She retorted, fully aware of how petulant she sounded.

“Is that so? And was sleep keeping you from serving the scores of tradesmen pounding at our doors?”

Pausing her massage, Livia cupped one hand to her ear.

“Why, I can hear them now. Such dedication. A shame they have to work in the morning.”

Cornelia laughed in spite of herself.

“Retire, carissima. You gain nothing from your mother’s bad habits. As her chief of staff, I would know.”

“All right.”  

The yawn that followed threated to split her face in half. Limbs heavy, Cornelia did her best to keep moving while Livia assisted her with her toilette. Once she her head hit the pillows, she was out. For once, she did not dream, sleeping the deep sleep of those who worked themselves to the bone.

She woke when Livia parted the curtains the next morning, squinting and burying her face in her pillow. The sunlight shone on Livia’s deep brown hair, handsomely illuminating the hooked nose that gave her a distinguished profile.

“Are you pleased to see what burning the midnight oil has brought you? It’s almost ten.”

“Yes, yes, I will fling myself off the Gidean Rock in shame after flagellating myself through the streets.”

Cornelia smacked her lips, ignoring the dried drool crusted at the corner of her mouth.

“Quaestor Maevaris Tilani will be here to see you in an hour.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Livia, did I…”

“Yes. You did arrange a meeting with her.”

She clucked her tongue and handed her a wet cloth.

“I expected you to remember it. Come, hurry and we can have you presentable.”

Hastily, Cornelia dressed and went through all the motions of a necessary toilette for a woman of her status. The smell of fresh bread wafted up from the kitchens as she prepared to face the day. When Livia deemed her appearance satisfactory, she gathered her papers and they headed downstairs to the atrium to await Maevaris’s arrival. Glancing over at the platter of refreshments headed to a more intimate room for their meeting, Cornelia ignored the grumbling of her stomach. A tall glass of water could only hold her for so long.

Resplendent in varying shades of blue and black, Maevaris strolled through the atrium as if she had lived in this house all her life. The dress accentuated her shoulders and the curve of her hips pleasingly, Cornelia noted, though the silk was of a middling quality. Had her father gotten caught up on the wrong side of the Senate again?

“Avanna, all!”

Maevaris greeted them with a radiant smile. In any other household, she would have greeted Cornelia first, but the minor houses knew each other well. In addition to not keeping slaves since the assassination of Tiberius Gracchus, the ancestor who caught the Archon’s ear and started in motion the abandonment of the practice, the house of the Gracchi had never stood on ceremony.

“Avanna,” Cornelia said, shaking her hand.

“How’s your father, carissima?”

Livia inquired, taking her hands and squeezing them. She grimaced before catching herself, weighing her words carefully.

“He’s...in a bit of a tight spot right now.”

“Are they still fighting over your inheritance?”

Cornelia asked after they had eaten and caught up on gossip, sipping at her watered down wine.

“You would think it would be rather cut and dried,” Maevaris said wryly. “One child, one heir. I suspect because this is the first time he’s taken a stand on his own rather than allowing himself to be buffeted about by the winds of the Magisterium, his usual puppeteers fear he’s grown the beginnings of a spine. They certainly are aware I have one.”

She sighed.

“I know it sounds harsh. I love him dearly, but you never see Gereon Alexius apologizing for his choice in heirs. I wish my father had his convictions from the beginning. Otherwise, we would never be in this mess.”

“Gereon Alexius has a far thicker cushion of support than him, including Halward Pavus,” Cornelia pointed out. “I suppose he could leverage your connections with the dwarven Ambassadoria, but only to a point. At least they cannot find enough fault with his views to drive him out of the Senate.”

“My father could not argue with a flea,” she agreed gravely. “Though speaking of arguing, we are here to talk about our constituents. I’m sure you’ve been hearing the same complaints I have.”

She sipped delicately at her wine.

“No land.”

Cornelia sighed.

“Land leased for too high a price.”

“Land promised, but then delayed—“

“Land given, but only at the cost of a child’s freedom—“

They shared a dark look, then silently chugged the rest of their watered down wine.  

“Over and over, our compatriots break their promises and our constituents suffer for it.”

Cornelia ranted, slamming her glass down in a distinctly unladylike manner and throwing up her hands.

“Is there an acre left in Tevinter unscathed? Oh, my heir must have an estate of their own, oh, I must have the finest tomb in Minrathous, oh, my guard dog died, let me erect a memorial in his honor. There’s no end to it! There’s nothing left! And yet when anyone suggests a better system should be created, they denounce it thoroughly! What, you want us to send our children to Seheron?”

“If half the heirs of the Magisterium had completed their full term of military service,” Maevaris said dryly. “We would have conquered Seheron, Par Vollen, and restored the glory of the ancient empire.”

“Seheron deserves to function as a nation of its own, not a half-conquered mess,” Cornelia said dismissively, waving a hand. “We have violated its sovereignty just as much as the Qunari, if not more.”   

And she wondered why her house was disgraced. Wisely, Maevaris chose to say nothing to that.

“In any case, this problem will only worsen. We’re hardly the only members of the Magisterium to hear these complaints, but the Senate currently has no interests outside of serving their own. The only solution is to seize what’s left, but ensure that no one else can distribute it until the old system is properly replaced.”

“By legislating it to death. It’s not a new problem by any means,” Cornelia mused. “I have few allies, but my family’s legal library is extensive. Your reach is further. Do you think you would be able to feel out any others?”

“I will certainly do my best. I can leverage my connections to give you unrestricted access to the Archives when anyone gives you trouble for it. They think us concerned with our own affairs, then let us present this as a pet project for our own houses. Window dressing, if you will.”

“All right. I’m sure you’ll come up with something woefully thoughtless and provincial.”

The corners of Maevaris’s carefully made up lips quirked.

“Provincial? Me?”

Her laughter fluttered over Cornelia’s breastbone, then settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Bite your tongue, Cora.”

Would she kiss it better?

The thought sprang unbidden as her eyes lingered on her lips, though she had hardly imagined the sultriness in her voice.   

“You should be so lucky, Mae.”

She retorted. The two held each other’s gazes for a long, heated moment, tension thick in the air. Neither dared look away, then Livia’s delicate cough from the entrance startled them both. As she gave them a knowing glance, Cornelia wondered how long she had been standing there.

“Shall I have the kitchen prepare a lunch?”

Maevaris waved a hand. 

“No, no. I’m entertaining a guest from the Ambassadoria. I must be on my way.”

She drew herself up and they retreated to the entryway. Maevaris threw her cloak over her shoulders.

“I apologize for keeping you, Cornelia.”

Unbidden, Cornelia reached out and rearranged the folds, gathering them closer to her shoulders.

“Not at all. It was no trouble.”

Her hands lingered before pulling away.

“I’ll see you soon.”

More subtly, Maevaris’s hands lingered too.

“Take care.”

* * *

 

For two weeks, Cornelia buried herself in memorandum, obscure legislation, accounts of the creation of Tevinter’s laws surrounding land ownership. For fourteen days, she absorbed every stray fact she encountered that could further their cause. She took her meals into the library and worked into the wee hours of the morning, only emerging to bathe, attend to her occasional meetings, and sleep. She sent brief, descriptive messages informing Maevaris of her progress, but their correspondence was tacit and terse. When she received the note from her to arrange a midnight meeting, she dropped everything.

“Cora! So glad you could join me.”

Maevaris reached out to her, smile resplendent in the moonlight. Cornelia’s stomach fluttered.  

“It’s good to see you.”

She acknowledged, taking her hands.

“Why have you called me here?”

“Some woefully thoughtless window dressing.”

She gestured to the purple markers glowing in the alley, lighting the way to the center of a small square in one of the poorer districts of Minrathous. An underground chariot race, then, far from the Gilded Quarter, specifically for the young alti to form alliances and eliminate their competition. Their privilege would shield them from its illegality and any consequences thereof. Cornelia frowned, wrapping her wool cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“We have no time for this, Mae.”

The damp chill of the night air slipped in, urging her closer. Undeterred, she draped an arm around Cornelia, coaxing her forward.

“Don’t be a stick in the mud. We can’t uproot the whole traditional system of land management in a fortnight and you’ve exhausted all your resources for now. My contacts are still mulling over the best way to handle it from a legislative perspective with the current crop of new magisters who are getting their bearings and establishing rivalries.”

Guiding them around a particularly loose patch of cobblestones, she paused, her chin brushing against Cornelia’s temple.

“Besides, you need to get out more.”

She added. Cornelia scowled at her.

“I left the house yesterday.”

“To walk to your private baths at the back of your estate, and you took your research in with you.”

“Have you resorted to spying on me?”

“I know you, Cora. You would rather die with a quill in your hand than let yourself breathe when you feel a deadline is approaching.”

Cornelia huffed in defeat as they reached the start of the course, their chariot already prepared and waiting. The crowd of all too familiar faces sized the pair of them up with feigned disinterest or looked down their noses at the two scions of minor, and in Cornelia’s case, disgraced, houses and returned to their earlier conversations.

“Fine. At the very least, we can use this pointless distraction to further our cover.”

As they climbed up and wrapped the reins around their waists and wrists, her ears picked up the faint strains of an argument from their opponents’ chariot.

“I’m telling you, Felix, I was on the edge of--”

“Sneezing yourself to death in a sea of papers?”

“A breakthrough, you arse, I’m sure of--”

The shout of the person presiding over the race rang out, a white cloth fluttering to the ground. Beside her, Maevaris snapped her reins and shouted to the horses as the makeshift gates sprang open. Cornelia quickly followed suit, their chariot hurtling out into the alleyway. She felt her arm around her waist as she stumbled, leaning into the curve of Maevaris’s side. They flew through the treacherously curved streets into the lead, the cobblestones beneath them jostling their perch. A sharp right turn sent Maevaris’s long blonde hair smack into her face. Sputtering, her hands wavered and Cornelia picked up the slack, saving them both from toppling out onto the street. While she picked and brushed the strands out of her face, she guided them into the long, straight stretch that signified they had nearly reached the halfway point of the track.

Her face finally free, Maevaris grinned at her.

“Have I won you over?”

The chariot’s wheels barely touched the ground, barreling down the road. Cornelia marveled at the power in her hands. Dimly, she could heard the sounds of shouting behind them and the other chariot rumbling in their direction. They shrieked as they flew over a large bump, laughing at the boost in speed it gave them. Once they had caught their breath, she turned back to her.  

“Winning helps. I hardly thought it would be this easy.”

“Well, when the path is clear, it helps. Usually, this street would be too busy, but one of the bigger houses bribed a group of mercenaries to rabble rouse in the merchant quarter to distract the night watch.”

She hummed acknowledgement as they approached the next turn. Then, her eyes widened as the statement sunk in.

 “That’s it, Mae!”

Cornelia hauled on the reins, jerking them to the left. The chariot nearly tipped over, then rocked as it picked up speed again. Maevaris clung to her in earnest as they stumbled from side to side until the chariot righted itself.

“Cora, what—“

“I’ve got it!”

Abandoning the race, they headed down another side street. Much to her surprise and Maevaris’s horror, after a distant but heated argument, the other chariot lumbered down after them.

“We’re not following you!”

Dorian Pavus shouted from behind them as he turned right, Felix Alexius desperately clinging to his side.

“It’s just the quickest way home!”

Cornelia ignored his apparent epiphany. They abandoned the chariot on a side street three blocks from the Gracchus estate. Heedless of the clasps around her neck, Cornelia raced through the atrium into the library, cloak billowing to the floor behind her. Maevaris followed her, her long strides matching every two or three steps she took.

“I hope you’ve tracked in all that dust for something worthwhile.”

Livia said dryly, bundling the cloak in her arms.

“I did!”

She exclaimed breathlessly, digging out a book from underneath the precarious pile on her desk.  Behind her, Maevaris trailed in, still a little wobbly from the chariot ride. Resting her hand on the back of a chair, she leaned against it.

“You have something?”

She panted.

“I do.”

Triumphantly, Cornelia snatched a sheet of parchment from her notes and held it aloft.

“I have the perfect plan.”

She handed the parchment to her. Maevaris took it, blue eyes flicking frantically across the paper.  

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I am.”

She shook her head.

“It’s a blatant ruse.”

Cornelia leaned in, determined, inches from her face. Maevaris’s cheeks flushed.

“Not if we plant it right.”

She drew herself up to declaim.  

“Consider Genetivi.”

Maevaris rolled her eyes.

“For Andraste’s sake—“

“Just hear me out. You remember his account of omens before the birth of Hessarian?”

“Of course I do. It was utter rot.”

“Every word of it. However, you will recall how when he wrote in a false declaration predicting the birth of a king and published it years later, how suddenly every temple in Minrathous flooded with magisters seeking augurs. If something similar were to occur this year, the Magisterium would immediately declare it null and void, that no children should be reared in accordance with this act of the Maker.”

“And of course, the recent influx of magisters with pregnant wives would hurry off to ensure the decree never reached the treasury to be filed and abandon their posts, along with the old guard, who would try to prevent it from happening in order to maintain their hold over the legislature,” Maevaris finished.

Cornelia gave her a wolf-toothed grin.

“Which would give us the perfect opportunity to pass this legislation without challenges. Absent magisters forfeit their vote and are marked down as abstaining. If we only have five people and three agree with us, it’s still a two-thirds majority.”

“And an unquestioned one without breaking a sweat.”

Maevaris returned her smile.

“You are a wonder.”

“Yes, well.”

Cornelia took a deep breath, attempting to ignore the sudden flush on her cheeks.

“I can only hope to live up to my ancestor’s legacy.”

“We will need sponsors,” Maevaris thought out loud, stroking her chin. “Someone senior with just enough involvement and support to help us sway the voices left. Someone who rarely speaks his mind, but the others trust him to know what he means and are willing to cushion the blow of angry, energetic opposition. House Pavus is far too outspoken regarding their views. House Alexius would be our best bet.” 

“Not outspoken enough,” Cornelia grumbled. “They both keep slaves.”

“The sole heir to House Pavus resides in Alexius’s household. They will speak on his behalf. They care far too much for their legacy to let it be damaged.”

Cornelia’s eyes narrowed at the unusual bitterness in her tone. She had rubbed elbows with the Pavus boy on occasion. While his talent for theoretical magic could not be denied, he seemed no different than any other pompous, arrogant swot with a taste for power and his family’s wealth. Why would she defend him? For a moment, she weighed the thought of an alliance between the two of them, an arranged marriage. Even if the question of Maevaris’s inheritance and the status of her house ensured it would never happen, her stomach roiled at the thought.

Still, without these connections, the soporati and the laetans would remain oppressed and struggling. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly out through her mouth and swallowed her pride.

“How soon can we meet with them?”

“Who do you think I’ve been talking to?”

She yawned, stretching the soreness out of her limbs.

“They’ll be pleased we’ve made a breakthrough. They genuinely thought we couldn’t pull this off. ”

“More fool them.”

Cornelia gave her a rare smile. 

“Tomorrow night. I think we both need to recover.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Maevaris said it dryly, but she returned Cornelia’s smile.

“Tiberius will escort you home,” Livia interrupted from the doorway.

“Thank you, Livia. I hope you have a good night.”

She must be tired, Cornelia thought, if her gaze was lingering on her lips. 

“Sleep well, Cora.”

But then again, hers was, too.

“You too, Mae.”   

* * *

 

They arrived at the Alexius estate at sunset the next day. Cornelia tugged at the fabric of her finest clothes, wondering if she had presented herself well enough. Maevaris put a hand on her shoulder. Fortunately, she had nothing to fear. In lieu of servants, Livia Alexius welcomed them into her home like old friends and ushered them to the private study. She left to go to bed before they entered it, but assured them that if they needed anything, they had but to ask.

“Welcome, friends!”

Gereon Alexius greeted them warmly.

“Avanna, Magister Alexius. We appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice.”

Cornelia said, shaking his hand.

“Not at all. We’re quite impressed with your work, and Maevaris and her friends are always welcome here.”

She turned as Maevaris greeted Gereon in turn.

“Magister Thalrassian.”

Widely considered to be the most beautiful woman in the Imperium in her early twenties, in her forties, she still cut a striking figure with her dark hair, distinctively curved nose, and fiercely captivating silver eyes. Her years of fighting in Seheron and her reputation as a shrewd legislator did not preclude it.

“Quaestor Gracchus.”

Cornelia extended her hand. She shook it.

“My husband is visiting his family in Qarinus, and I own most of our holdings. I will be able to vote in his place as a magister in my own right without incident. I will ensure that there are no loopholes in property law that could stymie our progress and draft amendments to your bill if there are.”

“Thank you.”

She surprised herself at how sincerely she meant it.

“I would not normally indulge the proclivities of such a minor house, but House Tilani is an old, dear friend, and there is a certain quality to your experiences and conduct that piqued my interest.”

If she said she was reminded of herself at her age, Cornelia was going to vomit on the spot. Instead, she raised her eyebrows at the uninvited house guest lounging in an armchair as if he owned the estate.

“Why is he here?”

Dorian Pavus flashed her a dazzling grin.

“Enchanted to see you again. To help stir the pot, of course. I’ve always had a knack for trouble.”

Gereon turned a fond chuckle into a cough when Aquinea shot him a dirty look. Maevaris shook her head at Dorian, discreetly taking Cornelia’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. Fighting the flush on her cheeks, she squeezed back. Maevaris gave her an encouraging smile and turned back to them.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

“We should be thanking you,” Gereon replied sincerely. “Do you have the draft of the bill?”

“Right here.”

Cornelia handed it over, then sat down with them and steeled herself for their reactions. After decades of service in the Magisterium, both of their expressions were inscrutable. Gereon hummed thoughtfully as he marked a particular passage with his quill and reminded Cornelia of her tutors in the Circle, dedicated but implacable. Beyond radiating her perpetual air of faint disapproval, Aquinea remained inscrutable. Finally, after what felt like hours, they put their quills down and exchanged glances.

“There are minor mistakes,” Aquinea said with an air of finality. “However, if both of you had not gone out of your way to inform me that this was not your very first piece of legislation, I would not have been able to tell the difference between your draft and a praetor’s. You should be very proud of your work.”

“We would like to ensure, though, that you are aware of the gravity of the situation you’re putting yourself in with this particular bill,” Gereon clarified with a concerned look on his face.

“We fully understand that this is the equivalent of dropping a keg of Qunari blackpowder in the Senate chamber,” Maevaris said, looking to her. Cornelia put a hand on top of hers as she leaned forward.

“We felt it necessary to be blunt. You never know. It might actually stir them to action.”

Aquinea barked out a harsh laugh.  

“Too true. Now let us talk logistics. It would be filed in the temple of Dumat after the ink dried.”  

“But it would be beneficial if we were to arrange for it to be stored in the largest one, furthest from the city’s center,” Cornelia pointed out. Gereon nodded, quill moving rapidly as he drafted the decree. Beside him, Maevaris, having far better penmanship than Cornelia’s chicken scratch, rewrote the bill with the corrections.

“Perhaps we could arrange for them to pass by our dearest ancestor’s most ambitious creation as well.”

Dorian drawled crudely, crossing one leg over the other.  

“Dorian.”

Aquinea snapped.

“This is hardly the time to bring that up.”

Cornelia watched him wither under his mother’s arch gaze with interest. That particular ancestor he referenced, Gideon Pavus, had designated a cliff side outside of Minrathous to be the new execution site for prisoners and criminals. Presenting it to the Senate as a more humane way to die and an effective cost cutting measure compared to the elaborate pageantry and theatrics they put prisoners and criminals through to entertain the lower classes. Three days later, while observing his work, Gideon Pavus met his end with a short push and a sharp drop. No heir had an interest in bringing up the biggest shame to their family’s house unless they had a death wish. Maybe she had misjudged him after all.

“The decree is finished,” Gereon declared, setting his quill down. “If I hand it off to you, my apprentice, to file at tomorrow’s session, it should give us enough time to pass the bill.”

“I shall take the long way there and ho--back,” Dorian agreed, correcting himself. If the slip up hurt Aquinea, she showed no sign of it.

“Lay low in the week to come after it passes,” she directed Maevaris and Cornelia. “There’s no telling the length or the ferocity of their reactions. They may feel stung, but it will take time for them to fully realize the poison in the tail.”

“Understood.”

Maevaris said, handing her the finished bill. Cornelia took it carefully, her eyes tracing the loops and whorls of the letters. She held it up to the light. This was really happening. She would finally get close to reaching one of the goals she was working towards. She smiled at Maevaris, who smiled back in turn, and set it down.

“Right then. Let’s run through this.”

* * *

 

In retrospect, the passage of the bill was rather anticlimactic.

Cornelia watched the Senate empty out almost entirely as the magisters flooded into the streets after Dorian’s carriage, hell bent on conceiving their very own Archon baby. She then strolled in triumphantly with Maevaris at her side. Gereon called them to a vote, which Aquinea seconded, and Maevaris’s father assented. With that, their plan had been perfectly executed and they celebrated with a lavish private banquet. The true implications did not hit until a week later while she was shopping and catching up with some of her constituents, who were hopeful for the reforms she had promised them. Finished with her errands, she prepared to head home.

A few blocks from her estate, a magister with dark brown hair approached her, accompanied by a hulking Qunari bodyguard. Not an unusual sight in Tevinter, though Cornelia noted in the back of her mind that most of the bodyguards she saw, regardless of the magister’s gender were not women. The two of them glided through the crowd effortlessly, the red leather inlay of the bodyguard’s armor complimenting her mistress’s daring red dress.

“Quaestor Gracchus.”

The magister said serenely, falling in step beside her.

“Your bill was quite the accomplishment.”

“It was a necessary measure for a good start,” Cornelia deflected.

“Certainly, but you will not see the victory you desire.”

“Not for at least ten years, of course,” Cornelia argued. “The legislative process takes time. I should think I know that by now. However, the amendments on the bill should give us enough time to regroup and properly recreate the initial decree that served as the foundation for the distribution of—“

“You are in danger, Cornelia Gracchus. Grave danger.”

“They’ve been tailing you all morning,” the bodyguard said, speaking for the first time, and it was then Cornelia realized the depths of her situation. “We did our best to be discreet, but they’re about to lose patience with us.”

Only then did she recognize the loose cadre of men and women closing in on them, heedless of the citizens around them. The magister shielded her with her body, a flask of lightening in her left hand as she raised her staff. The focus crystal glinted in the sun, a bright bauble, but no mana radiating off it. A fake, Cornelia realized, as the bodyguard drew her daggers and uttered a war cry. People scrambled out of the way as the assassins lunged for them. Fire gathering, her staff at the ready, she joined the fray as best she could. Still, her attempts fell short as quickly and efficiently, her temporary protectors took care of business. The bodyguard cut them down with ease while the magister’s lightening frazzled and fried their senses.

“You realize now the position you are in.”  

The magister said once it was over, cleaning the blood off of her staff blade.

“Distinctly,” Cornelia uttered faintly, her legs like jelly. She let the woman wrap an arm around her shoulder, guiding her in the direction of her estate.

“You’ve put yourself through so much. How long can you hold the wolf by the ears?”

“I was hoping you would know.”  

A long pause, then she spoke again.

“Your position is tenuous at best. We have not seen this level of unrest among the alti for a long time. However, your talents should not be wasted. After all, we want a better life for your constituents as much as you do.”

“Perhaps it was not how you envisioned, but we may help you find the victory you seek.”

The bodyguard said to her, swiftly wiping the blood and gore off her daggers and sheathing them.

“Anaan essam Qun, Cornelia Gracchus. We’ll be watching, and we’ll be waiting.”

Shaken, sagging against the gate of her house, she watched them disappear into the crowd. Gathering herself as best she could, she re-entered the house, sheet white and still trembling. Livia rushed forward, concerned.

“Carissima, what’s wrong?”

In her arms, Cornelia collapsed, sobbing.

For all she tried, she could not gather herself. Not after deep breathing, not after water, not after wine. She finally managed to choke out what had happened after eating a light lunch. Despite no longer being wracked with sobs, Livia refused to let her move and after sending out the necessary messages, arranged for a carriage to take them to House Alexius. Maevaris raced to her as they walked through the door and embraced them both. Cornelia breathed in her scent of linen and incense. She looked as though she had also been crying.

“You must leave immediately,” Aquinea declared upon arrival. “Tevinter was not safe for you before, and it will never be again. Your house still has comparatively little power, and you have lost any influence that might have saved you. If you are here, they will force you to repeal it. Any excuse will suffice. While the rest of the magisterium is consumed with causing your downfall, we will pass bills to protect your legislation so it will withstand even your banishment.” 

Unflinching, she grasped Cornelia’s shoulders tightly.

“Hold the line, Cornelia Gracchus. Do not let them revoke your legacy.” 

“You cannot force this on her!” Livia shouted at Aquinea, heedless of her station, her face a mask of fury. “She is too young! You have made her a pawn in your game without telling her the consequences!”

“She was aware of the consequences when she set this plan in motion,” Aquinea replied icily.

“I’ll go with her.”

Maevaris interjected.

“Let me go with her, please.” 

“Ridiculous,” Aquinea huffed. “Your inheritance is tenuous enough as it is. If you indulge that foolish nonsense and flee with her, it will surely fall and leave your father with no heirs, ripe for an assassination. We will lose the Senate and everything we’ve worked for. Both of you wrote this legislation and concocted the plan, but the misdirection was hers.”

She softened, almost imperceptibly.

“One of you has to take the fall. It’s best if you take it while there’s still a relatively soft landing.” 

“Then let it be me.”

Cornelia said slowly.

“I’ve leaned on Mae enough.”

Much to her embarrassment, she began to cry again. Livia Alexius gave her a hug, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“We will take your estate and your servants into our household. They will be treated well and will never be sold as slaves, and we will make offerings to your ancestors on your behalf. We will defend you as much as we are able when they try to erase any trace of you by damnation memoriae.”

“Thank you.”

Cornelia choked out, swallowing a sob.

“The border patrol can be bribed.”

She continued.

“I will make the arrangements. We will take you there this evening, and from there, you will be escorted into Nevarra and into Orlais. Go as far west as you can. We’ll plant enough false trails to make the Ben Hassrath blush and throw them off your scent to boot. Right now, both of you should rest. ”

She turned to Maevaris, clearly at lost ends.

“You should keep them company and help them pack their things. We’ll take you to the border with us. This may be the first political refugee situation you’ll have to confront, but certainly not the last of them.”  

“Yes. Of course.”

“Gereon will show you to your rooms while I escort Magister Thalrassian home and attend to business. Should you need anything, you have but to ask. As far as everyone else knows, we are entertaining you to discuss the possibility of an arranged marriage with our son Felix as an act of charity. None will be the wiser.”

Numbly, Cornelia assented, heedless of the goodbyes, the short and fruitless attempts at sleep and eating meals, the gathering of their things, or the long, bumpy, tense carriage ride to the border.

“A moment alone for the girls, if you please.”

Livia insisted after they met with the retainers, exchanged bribes, and sorted out the itinerary. The Alexiuses followed her lead, drawing Aquinea into a conversation about amendments to shore up the bill. Hand in hand, they walked to the side of the clearing. Relatively concealed by a few of the trees, Maevaris swallowed hard, her hand reaching out to touch Cornelia’s cheek. Cornelia rested her hand over it.   

“I suppose this is goodbye.”

She wished she had let her speak first. Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Maevaris leaned in close.

“I’ll make them regret this.”

“I know, Mae.”

She took a deep breath around a sob.

“I don’t want to let you go, Cora.”

“I know.”

She kissed her then, tasting salt.

“Be brave, Maevaris Tilani. Remember me by your side, and take heart.”

“I will.”

She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“I always will.”   

* * *

 

Morning in Serault dawned bright and early. Morning in Serault after the defeat of Corypheus blossomed and bloomed, flowers as far as the eye could see. Whether it was the season or if the earth felt at ease now that the breach had been closed, Cornelia could not say. All that mattered was his defeat to her, another tyrant of Tevinter’s twisted legacy eliminated for good. As the grey light turned to pink and yellow and blue after she slopped the pigs, she watched the sky. For a moment, she thought of someone with eyes just as blue, a potential lost love, then went about the rest of her day.

In the late afternoon sun, she saw a man traveling up the road through the window. She watched him come up to the fork in the road that would take him to Serault proper. He ignored it, stirring up dust on the road as he continued on the path. The traveler clearly meant to pay her a visit.

He was dressed finely, she noted, but not as a noble. The clothes, while high quality, had clearly been mended with a loving hand many times and, she suspected, were at least two years out of date for Tevinter fashion. When she answered the door, looking into his silver eyes, she knew that after all these years, her past had finally returned to haunt her.

“Magister Gracchus? Magister Cornelia Gracchus?”

Her instincts truly had rusted at the surge of fear she felt, the nervousness surely flashing in her eyes. 

“If I could have a moment of your time—“

She slammed the door in his face.

Back against the wood, Cornelia buried her head in her hands, forcing herself to breathe deeply. To the stranger’s credit, he did not knock and she could hear his retreating footsteps. Hands shaking, she poured herself a stiff drink, then left herself the bottle. The pigs would keep until the next morning. Livia raised her eyebrows at this, but merely poured herself a glass and let her be. Had she slipped up after all this time? She covered her tracks so carefully, left enough false trails in her wake for conspiracy theories to be developed about her disappearance.

In the morning, she pulled up the plank concealing a hidden panel at the back of her barn. Her birthright, nestled in the dusty, worn papers declaring her a magister of the Imperium, twinkled back up at her, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight. No one had touched it in the night. Perhaps now she should declare her fake husband’s return from his long business trip to Nevarra, though in truth, Cornelia had no idea where to start coordinating the logistics of that plan.

For the next week, she kept an ear to the ground, but what little she heard of the stranger was trivial. He visited the glassworks, he spoke with the Kindly Knight, and he tolerated the advances of the Wayward Bard, but wisely avoided taking him to bed. Many speculated the crystal around his neck was a gift for a generous donation to the Smiling Guildmistress, but stranger still was the half of a dragon’s tooth that hung beside it. For all her many dangers and arcane mysteries, Serault boasted no dragons.

She dug the hoe into the soil, turning over the earth. Though adjusting to hard labor gave her a sore back, cracked palms, and bleeding hands for her first six months, Cornelia had grown fond of the rhythm. It helped organize her thoughts. The Purveyor of Teas had grown too cocky for her liking. A reminder of his place would be due if he continued to infringe on her privacy and send agents attempting to solicit the marquise’s secrets out of her under the guise of commerce. Through the Kindly Knight and their dear marquise, she had begun to cultivate a possible partnership with the Smiling Guildmistress and the local tanners’ guild to better utilize the pig manure and urine her farm produced at an alarming rate. At least the stench kept the Dashing Outlaw, the Cheery Baron, and the Black Dogs at bay.

The Acerbic Dowager never sought her out, but had given her no reason to retaliate. The Silent Hunter had picked up the basics of Archon admirably despite his muteness and she enjoyed their monthly games. Shoving the hoe down hard into the earth to hold it there, she wiped the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief. Now there was an idea—no. The Silent Hunter would play his part as a fake husband by showing up only when asked and disappearing into the woods soon after, but that would only raise more questions. Defeated, she looked down the long dirt road.

Three figures in the distance were slowly but surely coming into view.

She recognized her unwelcome houseguest, followed by the biggest Qunari Cornelia had ever seen in her life. For a moment, she entertained the thought of taking Livia and fleeing into the woods. They were no bandits, but she had buried and made peace with her ghosts. Even if her banishment was lifted, nothing could coax her back to Minrathous. Battle axe resting over one shoulder, he turned to face her, and oh…

From behind his bulk, Magister Maevaris Tilani emerged, still resplendent in blue after all these years.

Determined, she strode forward, but Cornelia could see the uncertainty in her eyes if she squinted. When they finally approached her, she did not turn around and did not allow them to greet her.

“I will have you know among the tribes of the Alamarri, the swineherd was a revered position in the community. Even considered magicians, at a point.”

Maevaris stepped forward.

“I didn’t come here to gloat.”

 An old, ugly thought rose up, unbidden. She could not hide the bitterness in her tone.

“Come to pick up your husband, then?”

 “Oh, no.”

The Qunari behind Maevaris rumbled proudly with a voice like thunder.

“He’s _my_ husband, actually.”

Bug eyed, her jaw dropped as he barked out a laugh.

“Hah! Never gets old.”

Closing her mouth, she drew herself up.

“You are The Iron Bull, then. The Ben Hassrath with the mercenary company that serves the Inquisition.’

“Tal Vashoth now,” he corrected her cheerfully. “But as a former spy, I’d still like to shake your hand, you goddamn genius. We laughed for _days_. We never thought that anyone could pull that shit off.”

 For a man of his size, his grip was surprisingly gentle. Despite everything, she found herself charmed.

“If the stories I’ve heard are true, Serault must seem as plain as dirt.”  

“We’ve seen a lot as members of the Inquisition. We have a heightened tolerance for weird shit.”

She then turned to face the man she had slammed the door on.

“Dorian Pavus. I see we are compatriots in exile.”

She inclined her head by way of apology and he returned the gesture.

“Indeed. Ignis aurum probat and all that.”

“When has Tevinter ever made an effort to cling to its best and brightest?”   

“I’ll let you know, but if you’re so inclined, we hope to start today.”

She raised her eyebrows at his meaningful look, then finally acknowledged the last of them. 

“Avanna, Maevaris. I should not have greeted you that way. It was unworthy of me, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not entirely undeserved,” Maevaris acknowledged, and oh, how her stomach fluttered at hearing that voice again, as if they were young and careless without another thought in the world.

“So why are you here, then?”

“It’s better explained in private.”  

“Should I invite you in for drinks, then?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” The Iron Bull deflected. “I’m actually here to buy a pig and was hoping to have a look around.”

Dorian turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“For what, amatus? You can hardly take it on the road.”

“For the villa. We’ll have to have animals at some point if we want to be self-sufficient.”

“Surely not for another year. We have no servants. Unless you’ve made inquiries among the villagers?”

“I’ve asked. Not much work in a border town that far from the cities, and you know how good I am at making friends.”

The Iron Bull draped an arm around his shoulders. Dorian laced their fingers together, cuddling close without a care.

“Come on, kadan. Let’s take a look.”

They left the two women to their own devices. A touch too conspicuously, judging by the mild exasperation on Maevaris’s face. She turned to Cornelia with a wry expression.

“Not quite how I asked them to give us some privacy, but I’ll take it. What have you heard coming out of Tevinter?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why do you suspect I’ve heard anything?”

“Because old habits die hard. I know you keep an ear to the ground.”

“You’ve created the Lucineri, a party that should have been started long ago, to actually get the traction in the Magisterium to enact the reforms that my family and my house worked towards and fought for.”

There was also the matter of her father’s death and her husband’s, but Cornelia had poked enough at old wounds. Clearly, Maevaris had not come here all the way from Tevinter, risking her position, to fight.

“That you were right all along about,” Maevaris agreed. “I imagine you felt snubbed. That was never my intention. I spent years fighting with the Senate to regain my inheritance. By the time I had actually erased any doubt, the political climate had simply shifted in a more palatable direction as the other parties dithered while the Venatori ate them whole.”

“House Pavus among them, I heard,” Cornelia sniffed, then softened. “I’m hardly surprised Dorian was the only one not to remain complicit. It was a shame about House Alexius, though. I would not have survived without their kindness, but enough reminiscing. How do you think you can convince me to return to Tevinter, after everything that the Imperium has put me through?”  

“Consider Genetivi.”

Cornelia’s eyebrows shot up through her hairline.  

“Are you _really_ —“

“Please hear me out.”

She paused. Maevaris took a deep breath.

“I am no better than the vulgar herd he speaks of who estimates friendship by its advantages. You have every right not to return to Tevinter. No one could blame you for that after what you went through. Your sacrifice gave us everything, more than you or anyone of our age and status should have been asked to give. I should have come with you and shared in the fall. And yet, I was foolish enough to believe that I could hold the line without giving in to anyone else’s demands. I pushed others to act, but no one had your drive or courage, and that truly was what let the Venatori become entrenched within our halls.”

She drew herself up.

“Now, I find myself at an impossible crossroads and while Dorian and the Inquisition are half of the reasons we have gotten this far, none of them are anywhere near enough. We need you.”

She held out her hand.    

“ _I_ need you. More than you could ever know. I loved my husband Thorold dearly and mourn his absence, but I have regretted not returning your kiss for years. It’s you, Cora. It’s always been you.” 

The weight that had lurked in the center of her chest for years finally lifted.

“But the damnatio memorae—“

“What, this old thing?”

Maevaris flourished the paper in front of her from the inner pocket of her robes.

 “You know us. We write a bill if the Black Divine sneezes and yet, half of it never gets filed.”

Cornelia gasped.

“How did you—“

“A little bird with a long reach."

She held out the paper.

“Take it.”

Her freedom, her dignity, her power, her family’s legacy, all wrapped up in one package. She hesitated.

“I will need some time to sell the farm and settle my affairs here. I also intend to come back on my terms.”

“Of course. We’ll help you in any way we can and draw up a contract if that will put your mind at ease.”

She searched for reasons to stall or object, but Cornelia was tired and had not felt this much hope in years. Besides, she owed it to Livia for her to be able to retire at her age in their home country.

“All right. Then it’s settled.”

Cornelia stepped forward, squaring her shoulders. Maevaris kissed her then, when she leaned in and took the paper in hand. Her eyes fluttered shut, and after a chaste, heartfelt moment, they parted.

She gave her a shy, weak little smile.

“You told me to be brave.”

She could shatter her. She could deny her with a glance. She could ruin her and send her back to Tevinter and--

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” Cornelia swore and kissed her with the deep-seated, closeted passion she had held and guarded carefully in the deepest cavity of her chest for fifteen years. She had not kissed a great deal of people since her exile, but by far, she felt the earth and heavens move beneath them.

They pulled apart, ecstatic. Like the sun, Maevaris beamed at her.

“Oh, Cora, I never could have believed you would--oh, stop it, both of you.” 

Turning, she glared halfheartedly at the gleeful grins Dorian and The Iron Bull were currently sharing.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Dorian quipped.

“Lot of catching up to do,” The Iron Bull followed up, half carrying him away.

For the first time in years, Cornelia doubled over laughing, unable to catch her breath. She could barely follow Maevaris yelling after them, nor did she care to. For the first time, they could be together exactly as they were always meant to be, without a care in the world.

Despite the reservations she had presented, within two months, she had packed her last bag and accompanied by Maevaris, left the farm for a carriage back home. She left a note that if you cared to find her, to look to the western sky. Cornelia Gracchus had dared to hold the wolf by the ears, to shake the foundations of Tevinter, and she was still here. They were still here and ready to take Tevinter by storm, to give everyone the chance that they deserved to flourish, and if they moved quickly enough, fly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, giftee! 
> 
> I'm so glad I got to be your creative partner for this exchange. (I would've left this note sooner, but I started up school again and it's been a very busy week between that and work. Also, I may have rigged the game a bit by specifically saying in my offer that I loved The Last Court. Worked out for both of us, huh?) There are some people I should be thanking here, but I'll wait until the creators are revealed to do that. 
> 
> So, a couple of notes. While this particular political maneuver is fabricated, the decree that it was based on? Completely true. Supposedly, before the birth of Augustus, there were favorable omens that declared that any boys born in that year would be destined to be emperors. The Senate declared those omens null and void, but then they never let it get to the treasury and actually fought in the streets over it because in the words of my immortal consultant for all things Roman 'I'LL GET PREGNANT WITH MY OWN KING BABY MYSELF IF I HAVE TO'. 
> 
> She told me that as a fun fact, but when I got this prompt, it felt too good to pass up. That's also part of why land ownership (which was hugely controversial) and democracy (which was considered treasonous) played such a huge part in Cornelia's family and why her house was so disgraced. The damnatio memorae was also a real thing, and a very real threat because it was the highest possible form of punishment in Roman society. The chariot races, the political hierarchy, and the other little touches are also inspired by Roman history and everything I could possibly dig up about day to day life without it taking up too much of the story or contradicting the lore. I'm sure I'll remember more and add them here as I recall them. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this story. The Alexius family, Dorian worming his way into a bigger role, Bull's part at the end, and of course, Mae and Cora. I ended up using Wicked as a loose inspiration for their dynamic and dialogue in the early days of writing this, but I would be remiss if I did not include the biggest influence on this story and Cornelia's character in particular. 
> 
> Maggie Amber Elizabeth Davidson was one of my best friends. We met on Tumblr through roleplay and a Skype RP group chat in around fall of 2013. We clicked instantly. I got to meet her in person for the first time in 2015 when she bought tickets to the Welcome To Night Vale show called 'The Investigators' in Austin and snagged me one without telling me. I had graduated college and was taking care of my mother who was going through breast cancer while working shitty temp jobs. Initially, I was a little nervous because she was the first person I had met off the Internet, but I don't know why I ever had to worry. It was as if we had known each other since we were kids. 
> 
> We talked on Skype constantly, we texted, we watched movies and shows through Rabbit, and we played Overwatch together. She also came up to spend the holidays with me and her girlfriend in Pennsylvania, which we did consistently for the past two years. We laughed, we fought, we cried, all together. She was a lesbian and I'm bi, but it never came between us or made a difference and as queer people, we were always there for each other.
> 
> At the end of February, she was killed by a drunk driver. I flew down to Texas for her funeral the next week. 
> 
> It is a terrible and a wonderful thing to see an elegy to your dead best friend in the pages you've written. She was as fiercely independent and caring, ready to take up the sword at a moment's notice to help the disenfranchised and disadvantaged, as tremendously caring regarding her loved ones as the character I unintentionally based on her when I wrote this. I thought, if I finish this, I bury her. It was by far one of the most painful things I have ever had to write. At least, I think, I can give her the happy ending she deserved. Every happy ending I write between women now is for her. 
> 
> In the end, I can console myself with the fact that I loved her, and this is, if not, a testament to at least a quarter of my feelings for her, and that my stepgrandmother, a fellow artist who died last week after a long and fulfilling life, will keep her company. 
> 
> Thank you again for letting me write my way out and I hope that this has brought you as much joy as she brought to me. I've got my eye on you, kid. Wherever you are.


End file.
